


Chasing

by TheShipSailsItself



Series: In Other Worlds, Sex [1]
Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Multi, cake induced orgasm, sex with magical woodland creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-25 02:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShipSailsItself/pseuds/TheShipSailsItself
Summary: Harry and Macy kinkfic.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood/Various Magical Creatures
Series: In Other Worlds, Sex [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608916
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**This is not a memory. This is** ** a _fantasy_. **

That’s what Harry tells himself after shaking himself free of yet another excruciatingly vivid 'vision'. It’s just a fantasy. One dreamed up by his darklighter, no less. For it certainly wasn’t himself. He would never, not in a thousand years, dream of such a scenario. He had more respect for his charge than that. Not meaning any offense to those that would find or seek pleasure in such circumstances but were he, Harry Greenwood, to ever be blessed with the permission to touch her, it would never be like that.

Because in what world would Harry have ever dreamed of stealing into Macy’s room and lapping at his charge’s breasts and strumming his fingers between her wide open thighs as her mother and younger sister sat chatting in the kitchen directly below waiting for her to join them for lunch?

Who, if not the dark and twisted and very much separated half of him, could have conjured up a fantasy where Macy begged him to chase his own pleasure between her legs as she stood unmoving against his office desk? Unmoving but far from silent as she prompted him with filthy words to push further, slam harder and spill deeply into her body? And it certainly could not have been Harry himself who wanted to genuflect at her feet and lay his cheek against the inside of her leg, feeling the wiry hairs of her mound brushing against his sweat drenched forehead as he watched a pearly trail of his own cum slide thickly down her thigh.

These are not his fantasies that steal into his dreams at night or in the quiet moments of a midnight bath. These scenarios are not of his own making that have him muffling his cries of ecstasy as his hands pull at his flesh both between his legs and pluck at his chest. Not his own desperate curiosity that makes him catalog her scent day after day to fantasize about night after night. Not his own thirst for confirmation that wonders if the smell of her soap mixed with a day’s worth of sweat at the spot between her breasts would match what he’s tasted in so many of his dreams.

It’s not him, not really, that wants for the feel of her teeth at his neck, on his nipples, on the curiously sensitive scar at his side. Not him that imagines the delicate tease of her fingertips behind his scrotum. And certainly not him that insists that he remembers the feel of his own fingers filling her up in every way possible, making her ride his hand and chase her own pleasure as a queue of students started forming outside of his office.

It’s not him.

It’s just someone else’s fantasy.

_It’s. Not. Him._


	2. Midsummer, 1957

Harry's only ever been touched there by a satyr, and only on that one night so very long ago. 

He’d been so new to his existence as a magical being. He’d been skittish and could not bear more than the swirl of the satyr’s thick fingers around his opening. But the satyr hadn’t minded. Instead it had petted his thighs and pressed butterfly-soft kisses up and down his straining length. So light was the satyr’s touch that Harry would hardly have known what was happening had he not felt the moist heat of the satyr’s breath flowing over the steadily weeping slit of his cock. Or been able to tear his eyes from the satyr’s mouth as its tongue darted out to catch the gleaming rivulets that fell away from Harry’s tip.

The rest of the satyr’s companions had also joined in in playing with Harry’s writhing form. Their pine green hands had swept over his heated skin and their ample bosoms had pressed into his shoulders and cheeks, the occasional apple scented nipple falling into his wine-stained mouth for him to suckle at. 

The mirthful nymphs called up vines to wind and unwind around his arms wrists and sang at the long grasses he was laid upon to dance and sway beneath him. The grasses had tickled his sides and feet in a way that drew from him not laughter so much as rapturous moans. Under the moonlight and a canopy of diamond clear stars the fledgling whitelighter had arched and writhed and spattered the hands and faces of the delighted woodland creatures. They wrung cry after cry of ecstasy from him as they ‘celebrated’ the Elders’ newest creation, bathing quite literally in his pleasure throughout that long, midsummer night.

And those were the last moments of true pleasure Harry Greenwood would have for many decades to come.


	3. Petit Fours

She’s made petit fours. Harry watches, basket in hand, as she slides her knife through the shallow pan of sunny yellow cake, lemon he suspects from the scent reaching him at the doorway to the laundry room. She looks up from her task and the smile she sends his way is just as sunny and he feels himself warming under her gaze.

“Do you want to try one?” she asks as she lifts a piece out of the pan.

He sets his basket down by the breakfast table and when he straightens up he startles a bit to find her already standing so close, a small yellow cube held lightly between her fingertips. The urge to bring her hand to his mouth and pull the tiny cake from her fingers with his lips and tongue is overwhelming. But he holds himself in check. Instead of dropping to his knees and waiting for Macy to push the treat between his lips like he’s seen himself do in his dreams Harry plucks it from her hand with his own fingers. He can’t help the way his eyes slide shut as he closes his mouth around the cake nor the hum that rumbles up from his chest as the delicate flavor of the lemon icing washes over his tongue.

“You like it that much?”

Harry opens his eyes to see her giving him a look he’d almost doesn’t want to name a smirk for all the other imagery the word conjures up for him. She’s still standing so close to him. And when she lifts her fingers to her mouth to lick the opaque smudges of the pearly icing from their tips Harry’s breath catches in his chest. He wheezes out an affirmative.

“Okay, I’ll try to stash some away for your tea later,” she says, making her way back to the counter and her cakes as if she hasn’t…

Well, of course she hasn’t done anything. It’s all in his head. And in his dreams. And as soon as he manages to escape the kitchen he will set his hands to work on letting it all go in the privacy of the shower. But first things first.

“Yes. Thank you. I’d very much like that. Thank you.”

She laughs a bright laugh. He wishes they were living a life where he could bring her and that beautiful sound to the shower with him. Or if not to the shower then at least up to her bed where he could draw out such mirth licking painted stripes of the sweetly tart icing from her ticklish sides and the tips of her breasts. Using his tongue and fingers to-

“You said that already.”

“What?”

“You said ‘thank you’ twice”

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

He meets her smiling eyes and feels his face form an answering smile. He should be moving more quickly to leave lest she take notice of erection straining against the fabric of his slacks but as always he’s finding it difficult to tear his eyes away from that smile. But after reaching deep for just a little control he turns to leave.

“Harry?” _Damn it._ “I think you’re forgetting something.”

He turns back to see her looking pointedly at his basket of freshly laundered clothes.

“Ah yes, of course. Thank you.”

He picks up the basket and pulls it tight against his hips. But again she appears at his side without him noticing. He manages not to startle this time.

With his hands full he can’t stop her as she brings another piece of cake to his lips. 

“One more for the road,” she whispers as she pops the tiny bite into his mouth. 

It all happens in slow motion. Her fingers rising to his lips. His mouth opening to accept her offering. His teeth lightly grazing her fingers as she places the morsel in his waiting mouth. Her fingers not quite making it out before his lips close. The pad of her finger brushing against the tip of his tongue as she pulls her hand away. The salty flavor of her skin exploding over his taste buds. The thrill that runs through his body like a current, crackling down his spine to find its terminus between his legs. The moan he knows is far too loud, too guttural to be mistaken for mere appreciation of Macy’s culinary skills.

His eyes squeeze shut and his grip on the handles of the basket tightens as he finally swallows down his treat. He pulls the basket tighter against his hips and feels the front of his slacks slide wetly over him. He pants out a ‘thank you’ but cannot bring himself to look at her. Stepping back even as he hears her sweet, soft and oh so confused voice calling his name he calls up his magic and wills himself to disappear.

**Author's Note:**

> Went looking for a kinkfic comm for hacy and found zip. Guess I'm actually posting this ish on AO3. fml


End file.
